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swords-and-bats · 7 years

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Around the World

"I mean, it’s not really necessary for both of us to go, is it?"

Gokudera stared down at the dossier in his hands, his brow wrinkled in confusion. This was a simple hit; three targets, low-ranking Millefiore members that had been seen near enough to Namimori to cause concern.

Tsuna sighed patiently.

"Not necessary, no, but where the Millefiore is involved, I’d rather be safe than sorry, you know? You leave as soon as possible; I don’t want them here any longer than they have to be. Dispatch them however you see fit.”

The hard light in his boss’s eyes told the Storm precisely what that meant, and he nodded sharply as he stood, taking the second file with him as he brushed out of the room. His walk back to his and Takeshi’s shared quarters was a short one, but he slowed it, took his time and considered his options.

Really, this was a painfully simple mission; he could go himself, make sure that Takeshi didn’t have to get mixed up in it (the haunted look in his lover’s eyes was too much for Gokudera to take when he had to kill someone—it made the silveret ache to watch the Rain tear himself apart over it), and be back within the week.

Takeshi was in the dojo now. If he just… left…

"Yeah, fuck it," he muttered to himself, tucking both dossiers together. He tucked them both into the front pocket of his bag when he got to his room, quickly packed, and was gone within the hour, leaving a hastily scrawled note for his boyfriend on the kitchen table.

Takeshi,

Sorry about the short notice—well, okay, the no notice—but there’s a situation that needs to be taken care. I’ll be back in about a week. I won’t have my phone on me, so don’t freak out if you call and you don’t get an answer—I know you’ll do that anyway, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Ti amo. -Hayato

—————————————————

It had been five days.

Tsuna was pale, shaking, numb when he put down the report in front of him. Reborn, for once, had lost the cocky air he had when he handed them in—even he was reserved, eyes downcast as he let the small Decimo absorb what he’d found.

The Sky had sent Reborn out two days ago, after discovering that yes, Hayato had left on his own, no, he wasn’t taking any calls or e-mails or texts, and no, Takeshi had not known about this, had just come home to a note and an empty apartment.

The ex-Arcobaleno out after him, hoping that his friend was just taking longer than expected, and Reborn had found where Gokudera had been staying—a cheap, dingy hole-in-the-wall hotel that required no id, no credit card information, and didn’t run a cleaning service at any time other than checkout.

The room was a wreck. Gokudera’s bag had been ripped open, thrown everywhere; a table was broken, as was the bathroom door. There was blood, a lot of it. There was a body in the bathtub, pale and long-limbed and missing its head but Reborn could recognize the bracelets and bangles on the wrists anywhere.

"I… A-are you sure?" Tsuna asked, his voice thick, wobbling.

Reborn nodded. “I wouldn’t put you through this if I wasn’t.”

Tsuna parroted his nod, looked back down at the report, and brushed the tears off of his cheeks—not that it did much good, they just kept coming, they wouldn’t stop. The brunet muffled a sob into his hand and pushed the report away, pushed himself to his feet and stumbled out of the room. He had to tell Takeshi. He had to tell him before someone else found out and told him…

He hated that Takeshi opened the door with a smile. He hated how the Rain’s face fell, how he shook his head, how he knew what Tsuna was going to say. He hated how he had to say it anyway.

"Y-Yamamoto, he… Gokudera-kun is… h-he’s dead."

Hayato was supposed to be home soon. Takeshi had gotten everything ready, excited to see him again. Of course he was miffed… Tsuna had been surprised to see him the day after the Storm had left, but really, there wasn’t much he couldn’t handle alone at this point. He’d already planned the scolding, but that would definitely come after making sure his lover was all right and welcoming him home properly.

The knock on the door startled him from his book. Hayato must have forgotten his keys. With a fond grin, the Rain opened the door quickly. “Maa, Hayato, did you forget your keys when you forgot….”

Not Hayato. Tsuna.

Tsuna, crying his eyes out. No no no no no. No. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t….

deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead

Hayato was dead. Gone. Killed by the Millefiore. The rest of the day passed in a blur… he remembered Tsuna making him sit, he remembered a drink being pressed into his hand. Ryohei’s loud voice pierced the fog a bit and he knew Tsuna left, but he wasn’t sure how long it had been.

It didn’t matter. Hayato wasn’t coming back.

Tsuna and Reborn spoke to him about funeral arrangements, but Takeshi couldn’t muster up the feelings to care. He wasn’t even completely sure how much later it was, but he figured it must have been at least the next day… Tsuna’s eyes were red, but he wasn’t openly sobbing anymore. Whatever day it was, whatever they did would be fine… no, he didn’t care who was invited or when it was. The only contribution he made was the flowers.

"Lilies… they were his mother’s favorite. He’d… he’d…" Tears were pretty much a constant at this point. He just curled up on himself after that. Nothing else really mattered. Someone kept feeding him, but he couldn’t be bothered to notice who. He threw most of it up anyway.

Okay, so taking care of those Millefiore bastards had taken a bit longer than he’d hoped.

He’d gotten cocky, gotten caught, damn near gotten ambushed in his fucking hotel room; they’d had him tracked that close.

As luck would have it, though, they’d been cocky, too. They only sent one guy after him, and though the grunt had fought like a wildcat, Gokudera had managed to put him down with little trouble.

He knew the others would come looking for him, though, and the bomber would be damned before he spent any amount of time looking over his shoulder, dreading an attack. He did what he had to do; he cut off the goon’s head, dressed him in one of his own suits, put his bracelets on him, and left.

The ruse worked. The Millefiore idiots that remained were out four nights later cawing to all who would listen about their victory over the Vongola.

Their bodies were cold by morning.

—————————————

It was late—so late it had circled back around to early—by the time Hayato pulled up to the manor. He was exhausted but exhilarated; this had been a chase, a challenge, a true test of his abilities, and though his body ached down to his bones, the silveret felt alive. He made a beeline for his and Takeshi’s room, unlocked the door, and beamed sunnily when he saw that the Rain was still awake.

"Hey," he said, a little breathless as he stepped in and leaned against the wall. "Sorry I’m late—man, wait until you hear this; so the guys—wait, whoa. Take, you… You look like shit, who died?"

He didn’t hear the door open, didn’t bother looking up. He didn’t care. With any luck, the Millefiore had gotten in and found him. It just didn’t matter.

Until he heard Hayato’s voice. He… was hallucinating, wasn’t he? That had to be it.

"You’re dead." His voice was cold, as dead as the person who was supposedly standing in his doorway. He turned slowly to look at him, eyes wide and red, puffy from days of crying and full of tears and rage as he stared at the silveret in his doorway.

"You’re DEAD! You fucking asshole! You’re DEAD!" He stood, hands balled into fists at his side. He was shaking with fury, with the knowledge that not only had he lost his Hayato, but now his ghost, or hallucination, or whatever was standing there laughing at him.

"You just had to be a fucking hot shot! Had to do everything on your own, leave me here because you didn’t need me. You never fucking need me, and now look at you!!

"You made Tsuna cry… you fucking piece of shit, you told him you’d be there! You told him you’d never leave, you swore to be by his side and you just fucking go off on your own like some fucking vigilante!”

His fist hit the table, not noticing the crack in it as he turned his back on the ‘hallucination’. “Stay the fuck out, Gokudera. I don’t… I can’t deal with this shit… it hurts too much as it is. Just… get the fuck out.”

"What?" Gokudera was… confused. Takeshi looked like a wreck—he’d never seen his lover this… this empty; his eyes were hollow and his voice was hollow and even his movements seemed strange, seemed wrong. “Takeshi…”

He jumped when the swordsman suddenly started yelling, his green eyes wide as he tried to figure out what the hell he meant. Dead? How the fuck could he be dead, he was standing right here—

"T-Takeshi, what—" The Storm cut himself of, curled an arm around his torso as he felt those words dig in, sink their claws in and rake their way through his insides. His other hand came up to ball over his lips as he stared with glassy eyes, so hurt by this unexpected attack that he could hardly breathe. He sagged against the wall, trying to pull in on himself, trying to block the angry words his lover spat at him. Where the hell was this coming from? He knew he’d been gone a while, he figured he’d have to suffer through some chastisement, but…

Gokudera felt warm tears slide down his cheeks. He’d upset Tsuna, he’d made Tsuna cry, and now Takeshi wouldn’t even look at him—what… this wasn’t the first time he’d done, this, why this, why now—Takeshi punched the table, cracked the oak, and Hayato jumped, flinched and pulled his arms up to defend himself.

He felt sick. He felt hot and sick and he was choking on questions and tears but nothing would come out because Takeshi told him to leave, told him to get out, to get the fuck out and how… how was he supposed to live with himself now?

How was he supposed to live alone?

For a moment, the bomber panicked, but then a familiar calm came over him. He knew this calm. This calm came before he did something very, very stupid. This was the calm he’d felt years ago, back in darker days, in darker times where it was kill or be killed and he leaned towards the latter.

He pulled himself up on shaky legs and said, in a voice thick with tears, “Yeah, okay. Fuck you, too, Yamamoto. Sorry to be such a goddamned burden all these years.”

The silveret turned and stumbled out of the apartment, pulled his keys back out of his pocket and damn near ran to his car. He didn’t cry, he wouldn’t cry, he wasn’t brushing tears off of his face; he didn’t care because of course this family was too good to be true. Of course he ended up alone again, wasn’t that how it was meant to be? He was a live bomb, a liability, a burden and a fuck-up, and it was only a matter of time before Takeshi, sweet and loving and kind and warm and everything, realized that.

Within the hour, he was on a plane. His phone was gone, dropped in a trash can at the airport. His wallet was with it, all except for his fake identification papers, the ones he’d kept from Takeshi, and his money.

Takeshi wanted him to disappear? Fine. Gokudera was good at that, and he’d been away from his madrepatria for too long.

Takeshi collapsed as his hallucination disappeared, dropping to his knees and keening, Arms around his chest, head to the floor, his body was wracked with sobs. His Hayato was gone… he was so angry and hurt and destroyed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.. he didn’t want to anymore. He just wanted the pain to go away, wanted the tightness in his chest to stop… he didn’t want to feel anymore.

He had no idea how long he laid there. The sobs turned to whimpers and he fell to his side, curling around himself. That was how Tsuna found him… the door hanging wide open made the little boss panic, fearing the worst when he finally had good news for his best friend.

"Yamamoto! Yamamoto, where…?" He blinked, running over and sliding to his knees, pulling the Rain up off the floor. "Takeshi!" He looked him over for injury, hissing at his swollen hand but relieved to see that was the only physical thing wrong with him. He pulled him up more, letting the raven rest his head on his shoulder, running fingers through shaggy hair.

"C’mon, Takeshi… I have good news. I got a report from Gokudera-kun. Hey, listen to me. Gokudera-kun is not dead. He’s alive! It was a decoy… He should be home any time now… I’m kinda surprised he’s not here already.” Because of course, if he’d shown up, Takeshi would not be on the floor sobbing with a broken hand.

Right?

The Rain’s head lifted, staring at Tsuna with shocked eyes. “Wh-what? What? Tsuna…. no. No… he can’t be… oh god…”

The Sky blinked and nodded. Why… wasn’t he happy? “Yeah… he’s alive. He said he’d be home by now…”

"No no no… oh god, please…. no… Tsuna… he was here…. it wasn’t… I thought…" Takeshi scrambled to his feet, starting to run for the door. Tsuna grabbed his arm, spinning him around.

"Yamamoto!" His voice cut the air like a whip, forcing his Rain’s eyes back to him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Ha-hayato… he was here, Tsuna. He was home, but I thought…" A whimper slipped from him. "I… I thought I was dreaming, or hallucinating. I was so mad…" Tears slid down his cheeks as the full weight of what he’d done slammed into him. "He left. I told him… god, I told him to go… to just leave…"

Tsuna’s eyes closed as he took a deep breath. Yelling and getting upset was not going to help. He could see the mistake, but… ugh, what a mess. “All right. He didn’t come to me either… I’ll send a team out to find his car. He can’t have gone far.” He hoped. “You will get yourself patched up and we’ll talk to him once he’s found. He’ll understand, Takeshi.”

—————————————————-

It hadn’t taken them long to find the Storm’s car. The poor parking job only deepened Takeshi’s guilt… there was no way his lover would leave his vehicle in such a state if he planned to return.

After passing his description around the airport, they found that he’d jumped a fast flight to Italy. The swordsman had followed, telling Tsuna to stay home. This was his fuck up… he’d fix it.

He was going to bring his lover home.

Almost a month went by. Takeshi sent biweekly reports, and handled little missions in Italy while he was looking… he swore he’d been over and under the country 20 times. There was still no sign of Hayato.

Where the hell could he be?! It was like he had died all over again. Every night found the Rain in a different hotel, curled up alone and fighting his own growing sense of dread.

It was easy to lose himself in Italy.

The moment he got off the plane, got through customs, he ditched his id, dropped it in a trashcan outside il Aeroporto di Fiumicino, hopped a train, and headed south.

He stayed in no city longer than three days, heading for the amalfitana, keeping close along the coast until he hit Napoli. It was a huge, sprawling city, full of tourists and gypsies, mafiosi and regular citizens, and it was there that he ditched his suits—they were drawing too much attention—and instead bought clothes that he hadn’t worn since high school; t-shirts and button-downs, jeans and sneakers, better for walking long distances in. Bought a beanie to cover his silver hair, bought sunglasses that that covered the majority of his face, bought a new slough of bracelets and rings, pierced his lip. Anything to divorce himself from the person Takeshi would be looking for.

His heart throbbed painfully. You’re assuming he’s going to look for you. He told you to leave—no, he commanded it. What the hell makes you think he gives a fuck about where you are, Hayato? You could die here and he wouldn’t care. No one would care.

Three weeks in and he left Napoli after staying there for four days—probably two too long, but what the hell ever. Again, it wasn’t as though anyone was on his trail. He toyed with the idea of slowing down, enjoying the countryside that he’d loved so dearly as a child, but just the thought of reminiscing about anything made him sick.

Gokudera pushed on.

He stopped using public transportation then, too, stole a bike and headed for Vietri sul Mare, for Minori, through Amalfi and finally into Positano. He was ending week four, and though loneliness clawed at him, ate at his mind and left him weak and shaking and sobbing at night, he forced himself to ignore the friendly calls of both natives and tourists.

He left his bike behind in Positano, took a boat to Salerno, and found a place to stay there with little trouble—it was a city large enough to get lost in, but still small enough that it only took a little convincing for a kind woman by the name of Clara to take him in. He paid her, grateful for her generous spirit, even more grateful for the fact that she asked no questions and left him in peace.

The Storm—well, could he even call himself that anymore? Hayato spent a few days in his room, crying his misery out and feeling generally sorry for himself, but finally emerged three days later, hungry and cranky and in sore need of nicotine.

Clara gently shooed him out of the apartment, told him to get some fresh air and some cigarettes, and to come back when he’d stopped looking so unbearably sad.

He walked aimlessly around town until he finally wound up at the bay. For a moment, he leaned against the banister along the lungomare, stared down at the crashing waves, let his sadness consume him and ached for Takeshi, for his love, his lover, il suotutto, to make him better.

With a long, deep sigh full of regret and self-pity, the silveret hoisted himself up onto the railing, faced out over the ocean, pulled his knees to his chest, and lit a cigarette.

Takeshi’s hits had started getting colder, and more brutal. The quicker he finished a mission, the quicker he could get back to his search. Tsuna had stopped sending most things his way… After Gokudera’s brazen decimation of the squad sent to kill him, the Millefiore had backed off and things were as peaceful as they could be in the mafia.

The Rain had wandered down to the bay after a breakfast he barely touched, coffee in hand as he strolled along the wall. He hadn’t given up hope, but so many nights spent alone, worried sick and horribly guilty were starting to weigh on him. Maybe Hayato was happier alone… Maybe it was better this way.

He was probably better off not having to deal with an idiot who couldn’t tell the difference between reality and a ghost anyway.

A frown tugged at his lips and he pushed his shades up, hiding the tears that he was trying desperately to blink away. The ocean sounds were so lonely… they were making him maudlin. He straightened his shoulders, noting absently that his jacket was getting too big… he really should consider eating more. He hadn’t dared communicate online with his boss… he knew he looked like hell, and Tsuna was close to commanding him home as it was.

He just wasn’t quite ready to quit… if he could just find-

It couldn’t be… he hadn’t seen that sloppy, badboy style since high school… He had to be wrong, but the way his heart clenched in his chest..

He’d accosted random strangers before, what was one more time. He walked up next to the man smoking on the wall, glancing sideways quickly. It was… he looked exhausted and sad… but it was his Hayato.

"Can I bum one of those?"

Gokudera was used to strangers accosting him for cigarettes. It was Italy, after all; people were friendly here, open with their things, and sharing a cigarette with a stranger was one of the best ways to pass the time.

So when someone walked up to him, stood in silence for a moment, and asked him for one, Hayato simply held out the carton, not taking his eyes off the horizon, hoping to make it plainly obvious that he was not in the mood to talk.

It took him a beat to realize the question was posed in Japanese.

His head whipped around so quickly he was surprised it didn’t snap and he jerked away from Takeshi, his eyes wide and very suddenly brimming with tears. The silveret lost his balance but managed to find it again before he dropped to the ground, taking another step back for good measure as he pulled his hands up to his chest.

He couldn’t draw in enough air to speak. His heart was in his throat and it was cutting off his oxygen, making him choke on something that sounded like sobs and probably was, god, he was sobbing as he shook his head, took another step back, stared at Takeshi with wide, unblinking eyes, terrified that if he glanced away for just a moment the brunet would be gone.

Again.

“V-voi… C-come cazzo mi hai trovato, non—shit, how are you here, this is impossible—you w-weren’t supposed to find me, you weren’t supposed to look for me, Takeshi—” he gasped, the Japanese feeling clumsy and foreign on his tongue.

He fished his lighter out of his pocket, lighting the cigarette Hayato had given him with shaking hands. He stared out at the water, not wanting to move too fast, or at all just yet. He couldn’t spook him… he couldn’t lose him again.

So he took a drag of the cigarette, closing his eyes as the nicotine calmed his frazzled nerves, amused by the irony that he was using the drug to calm himself. He started talking, letting the smoke slide out of his nose as he spoke.

"Hayato… please… just listen to me, ok?" He couldn’t bear to look at him yet… the soft cries were ripping his heart up. It was all his fault…

"We got a report from Reborn… your body had…" He swallowed, taking another drag of the cigarette. It still hurt so much to even think about… "Your body had been found in that motel. Reborn and Tsuna… they were talking funeral plans and asking my opinion and I…" His eyes closed, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"I thought you were dead. I thought… Heh… I thought I’d finally lost it. There you were, standing in the doorway like nothing happened while we were making plans to put… god, to put you in the ground." He slumped over the wall, tears falling to the rocks below. "I was angry… so angry at you for leaving me. For getting killed… I’m sorry.

"I know it doesn’t fix things… I know it probably doesn’t matter, and god, how much happier have you been not having to clean up my messes and deal with me. But… but I love you. And I’m sorry…” He turned then, leaning on the wall and pulling his shades off. He wanted to dive at him, wrap him up in his arms, never let him go…

But he didn’t deserve that. He wasn’t worthy of the happy ending he wanted. He made his lover cry, he made him leave… all he wanted was for Hayato to come home, but he wasn’t… shouldn’t get that.

"I love you…"

It was difficult to hear over the racing of his pulse in his ears, over the way his breath hitched and caught on sobs, but he listened. He listened and suddenly he understood—of course. That body… He’d expected the Millefiore to take it with them, but if they’d left it, if Reborn had found it…

Well, it had been a convincing decoy, though he never thought it would convince the ex-Arcoboleno. Then again, he’d never had reason to believe any of the Vongola would see it.

He still hurt, he still ached and hurt from what Takeshi had said, and he shouldn’t have forgiven him so easily, he should have been pissed, he should have yelled and hit and kicked the bigger man for putting him through this. He should have been livid.

Instead, he gave a single, raw sob and rushed the few steps over to his lover, crushed himself to Takeshi’s body and buried his face in his chest, his fingers clutching at the back of his Rain’s jacket like if he let go the other man would disappear.

Gokudera gritted his teeth against his sobs, trying to quiet them even as they shook his body, and his voice was raw, rough and open, as he whispered, “I am happier cleaning up the worst of your bullshit than I could ever be without you.”

"Hayato…" His own voice broke as he wrapped arms tight around the smaller form, burying his face in his hair and weeping like a child. "Ti amo, Hayato… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve been worried sick about you… please, love… please forgive me…”

He couldn’t move, couldn’t think… all he could do was beg, over and over, for forgiveness, for Hayato to love him again… He’d screwed up so badly, and everything was just wrong when he wasn’t home. He belonged in his arms… he was never letting him go again.

They were starting to gain an audience, but Takeshi couldn’t find a fuck to give. The sound of the ocean didn’t seem quite so lonely anymore, and all he wanted to do was hold the Storm, just like that, forever.

"I love you so much… please forgive me…"

Hayato’s hands moved up, slid around Takeshi’s ribs to slide up along his ribs, press over his chest, pause over his heart as he struggled to get himself under control. He couldn’t stop crying—his relief had broken a hole in the dam he’d built around his emotions and now they were pouring out, sliding down his face to soak his lover’s jacket as his hands moved up again, clutched at the back of Yamamoto’s neck and at the short hairs on the back of his head.

“Non c’è nulla da perdonare,” he whispered, pulling the taller man down, pressing kisses to his lips, eyes, cheeks, nose, forehead, anywhere he could reach, kissing away the bigger man’s tears as he, himself, trembled and sagged against the Rain, so relieved that he could do this again that another wave of emotion broke over him.

Finally, he found and caught Takeshi’s lips. Gokudera pressed his sobs to his lover’s mouth, kissed him until the sadness and the ache started to fade, until he started feeling warm again, until he could pull away and press his face to the Rain’s neck without suffocating there.

"I love you," he whispered, then said it again, louder. "I love you. Ti amo, Takeshi. Ti amo così tanto. Ti amo più della vita, amore, ti amo più di qualsiasi cosa e più di ogni cosa e mi dispiace tanto. I am so, so sorry—I never meant… I d-didn’t know… God, Take, forgive me, take me back, I c-can’t… I can’t do this without you. I can’t live without you, goddamnit…

"You’re everything to me. Please, I… I can’t lose everything."

The little kisses, the hands on his chest, in his hair… they all felt like redemption. Hayato’s lips pressed firmly against his, his sobbing breaths mixing with the bomber’s… that was rebirth. He could breathe again, the pain that had wrapped around his heart, that had been suffocating him since he’d first heard Tsuna say he was dead finally fell away, leaving him breathless.

It took him a minute to register that his lover was talking again, and when he finally did, he shook his head sharply. “No… No, Hayato, please… there’s nothing to take back. I never wanted you to leave, gods… I wanted an image in my head, a tease when I thought you were dead and I’d never see you again… that’s what I wanted gone. Not you. Never you. You’re my everything, Hayato… I gave up…”

Just saying it out loud hurt, but he needed him to understand. “When Tsuna said you were dead… I checked out. There’s no other way to say it.” His hand cupped the silveret’s cheek, resting their foreheads together as he tried to remember how to breath. “All I want is for you to come home. I miss you so much… I’ve been searching all over Italy for you.” He kissed his nose, thumb rubbing over the new piercings lightly. “I’d really, really like it if you’d stop hot-dogging and just take me on missions with you, though… I’m a big boy, and I don’t think I can handle a report saying you’re dead again.” He managed a watery smile, but the pain from that scare was still very evident in his eyes.

Gokudera sniffled, glanced up at Takeshi with watery eyes and scrubbed at his face until those big, warm hands cupped his cheeks and pulled his face up, forced him to look at him, and fuck, he was crying again, curling his fingers into the front of his lover’s shirt like a lifeline.

"I… God, I’ve missed you," he said, his voice like a sigh, like it was a relief to finally be able to say it without feeling weak or pathetic, without hating himself a little bit or choking it out between sobs. He pressed a kiss to his lover’s thumb and at least had the decency to look a little abashed as he ducked his head, kicked at the ground, pressed a kiss to Takeshi’s sternum for good measure.

"Yeah, okay. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I didn’t know this was going to get so… so out of hand, you know? It was supposed to be easy… I would never, ever do that to you on purpose, Take, you’ve gotta know that," Hayato whispered, pulling his lover down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

And then another.

And another.

He didn’t mean to, he didn’t, but then he was surging up onto his tiptoes, crushing his mouth to Takeshi’s, throwing an arm around his neck as the other cupped his cheek, stroked his cheekbone and then slid up into his hair.

"I know… I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I love you," he managed to get out between kisses. The sudden movement caught him off-guard for a second, but his hands automatically went around his waist, holding him against his chest where he belonged. His head tilted and he kissed him back, groaning into his mouth and parting his lips.

He needed this so much. Like air, like life itself, he needed his Storm pressed against him, needed him in his arms and safe and alive. Tears continued to slide down his cheeks as he pulled the smaller man closer, kissing him until they were both breathless.

When he finally, reluctantly pulled away, it was only far enough to rest their foreheads together again, panting softly. “I love you… I always will.”

He slowly moved away, fingers sliding over the bomber’s skin reverently. An impish grin fell into place, eyes bright and warm despite the tears drying on his cheeks. His Hayato was back… that’s all that mattered. His hands slid into the Storm’s front pocket, pulling his cigarettes out and tapping out a fresh one. Putting it between his lips and lighting it, he pulled out his phone.

"I have to call Tsuna… he really has been worried sick about you, love." A drag of the cigarette, and he hit the speed dial. "Yo, Tsuna! Guess who I found?"

Gokudera had never before been so starved for affection. He drank in Takeshi’s kisses like fine wine, breathed him in like air, swallowed his groan and returned it with one of his own, one that was breathless and helpless and sweet, so relieved he could taste it.

He’d missed this, missed the swordsman crushing him to his chest, missed how it felt to be wrapped up in these arms and kissed until he couldn’t stand without their support. His green eyes were dazed when Takeshi finally pulled away, his lips stinging and a little bit puffy, his breath coming quicker.

"I love you. Goddamnit, I love you,” the bomber whispered, his own hands sliding down over the bigger man’s broad shoulders, down the flat plane of his chest and across his sides to slip around his back, settling at the base of his spine beneath his jacket. He gasped when he felt fingers slip into his front pocket, his hips jerking automatically, though when they pulled away with his pack of cigarettes in hand, the Storm scowled.

"That’s two you’ve bummed now. Mooch," he grumbled, waiting until Takeshi had taken one good drag before he pulled the cigarette from between his lips. "It’s a nasty habit, you shouldn’t have started."

Hayato took a drag of his own, laid his head on Yamamoto’s chest and winced as he heard Tsuna answer, sounding exhausted and strained.

Fuck, he was an asshole.

"Yamamoto," Tsuna said curtly when he answered, expecting the Rain’s usual terse greeting and clipped update. It was a little early, but the brunet worried so much he wasn’t going to complain about confirmation that the swordsman was still alive. However, his voice was chipper, relieved and happy and upbeat in a way that the Sky hadn’t heard in nearly two months, and he dropped his glass when he realized what, exactly, that meant.

Tears burned at his eyes, dripped down his cheeks, and he said with a thick voice, “Y-you found him? Tell me everything—where are you? Is he okay? Are you?”

"Yosh! He’s all right… we’re all right. We’re in Salerno.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to Hayato’s head with a relieved sigh. “I’m not telling you everything over the phone, but we’re ok. It just… god, it was such a huge misunderstanding.” He could feel the thick swell of tears again, swallowing them back barely.

They were together. Hayato was safe, wasn’t dead, didn’t hate him. He turned, sagging against the wall and pulling his lover against him again as the adrenaline of finding him dropped.

He was so tired…

"Here… I’ll let you talk to him for a few minutes. We’ll be on a plane tomorrow. I miss home."

Tsuna groaned and leaned back against the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly as he muttered, “Salerno… Jesus, can’t you two fight like normal couples?” Still, there was a fond note in his voice—he was annoyed, yes, from both a friend’s status and from a business point of view. He’d been without his right-hand man for over a month now, and while he’d been able to rely on people like Reborn (occasionally) and Ryohei (sort of) and Lambo (not really except in a pinch), he needed someone there who was intelligent enough to understand what he needed without needing to implicitly say it, as well as someone loyal enough to do anything he asked.

He’d… he’d missed Gokudera far, far more than he’d expected.

Gokudera was, understandably, hesitant when he took the phone from his lover. “H-heyy, Juudaime,” he said cautiously, and he flinched away when he heard a sharp inhale from the other side of the line.

"Don’t you ever do this shit again, Hayato,” Tsuna growled, his eyes flashing orange as he clenched his phone tight in his hand.

The bomber’s eyes widened as his cheeks flushed in shame. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Good. When I give you a mission with someone, you’d better do it with them. And I don’t care how bad you and Yamamoto fight; if youever think it’s bad enough to leave again, you tell me first. You need space? Fine, but I need to know where that space is. Do you understand me?”

Hayato felt like shit. “Yessir. Of course, Juudaime, I… I didn’t think—”

"No, you didn’t," Tsuna said, his voice suddenly weary and small and scared. "Please… Please don’t ever make me live through that again. I was so afraid, every day, that he was going to find you dead and he… He lost you once already, Gokudera-kun; I don’t think he could do it again. I don’t think I could do it again.”

The Storm’s eyes filled again, spilled over as he leaned against Takeshi, and nodded, whispering, “I… I promise, I’ll… I’m so sorry, l-let me make it up to you—”

The Sky’s voice was soft now, concerned and a little bit happy because no matter how displeased he was that Gokudera had run off, he was coming back now. It was going to be okay. “Make it up to me by coming home. By the time you two get to the airport in Rome, you’ll have a flight booked. Get some rest tonight, both of you. And please, for the love of all things sacred, please make him eat something.”

Gokudera laughed, cut a look to Takeshi (who did look a bit underfed—the clothes that used to fit him so well were a little baggy now, and his eyes looked tired and sad) and nodded. “Of course.” He murmured a soft goodbye, slipped Takeshi’s phone back into his pocket, and then looped an arm around his neck, pulling the brunet down for a slow, sweet kiss.

"You need to eat something. So do I. Come on, I’ll drink too much wine and you can carry me home."

His eyes had slipped shut, not really able to handle watching Hayato cry again. Everything was still too raw, too fresh for him. He could hear Tsuna’s tone, but not the words, and he wondered a bit that he hadn’t received his own scolding… that would probably come from Reborn when they finally got home.

The sudden weight in his pocket startled him, and he blinked, opening his eyes just in time to close them again as he melted into the Storm’s kiss. Gods, he’d missed him so much…

The thought of food still twisted his stomach, but he shrugged… it was just easier to go along with him than to argue. He snagged the almost-burnt out cigarette from Hayato and took a final drag with a soft sigh. “How about we skip the wine and just get something to eat back at the hotel?”

All he really wanted to do was lay down, wrap himself around his lover and not let him go. Possibly for a year or so. Food, Tsuna, the flight home - it could all wait. Making sure Hayato was real, making sure this wasn’t another elaborate nightmare… that’s all that mattered at the moment.

"If you keep taking my cigarettes, stronzo, I’m gonna punch you,” Hayato said fondly, threading his fingers through the bigger man’s and pulling him towards the commercial side of Salerno, where he knew the hotels that actually looked like hotels were, the ones where Takeshi would be staying.

He wasn’t going to lie, though, ordering expensive room service and eating it in the comfort of a bed, wrapped around Takeshi… hell, being in a bed, wrapped around Takeshi (and wow, he meant that in every way) sounded like a solid fucking plan right now.

But like hell he was going to make it seem that easy. “Non sei mai stato veramente ubriaco fino a che non hai ubriaco il vino italiano,” the bomber said sagely, trying to make his words seem deep and wise, hoping his lover hadn’t picked up enough Italian to understand that no, there was nothing deep or wise about that. “You always say I’m more fun when I’m a little drunk.”

"Maa, I’ll just buy you another pack when I get mine." He followed easily, letting the bomber take the lead while he just enjoyed the view. The Italian phrase made him laugh, shaking his head.

"Then I’ve been drunk… everyone in this country is insistent on getting tourists trashed, apparently." He’d heard it so often over the last month, and had to turn down more offers for alcohol-induced bad decisions than he could count. "I just… I don’t want to deal with it tonight, ok?"

He turned them down a different street, heading to a small convenience store he’d found a couple days before on his way to the hit. The cigarettes were cheap and the girl behind the counter was cute and gave him discounts for a smile. It was a good system.

He grabbed two packs of Hayato’s brand and a couple bottles of soda, setting them on the counter and grinning broadly at her. “Ciao, bellissima, come sei stato?”

“Annoiato, amore. E ‘morto oggi. Proprio questo o di…” She winked with bright smile. “posso interessare a qualcosa d’altro?”

"Maa, tesoro, ti ho detto non devo tempo per quella ora. Forse più tardi." He handed her a small pile of cash as she rung him up.

"Everyone in this country is insistent upon getting trashed. Tourists are incidental," Gokudera said, laughing quietly, secretly impressed that his lover had picked up on that. Maybe Takeshi had just been lazy about learning languages? The bomber shrugged—probably not. Italians were fond of getting a little bit drunk—ubriaco was probably one of the first words the locals taught him.

He snorted as he was pulled down an alley, recognizing the part of town as one he’d meant to check out—it was off of Via Roma, so there were less tourists, and there were more actual Italian shops, stores and restaurants and the like run by natives, not by “natives.”

In all honesty, he didn’t even notice the girl behind the counter until Takeshi started flirting—flirting—with her, and what the hell, he’d never even flirted with him!

And she flirted back, asking if posso interessare a qualcosa d’altro—he would shove a stick of dynamite up her twat and take the whole fucking store down with it. He was seething, gritting his teeth and digging his nails into his palms, but then Takeshi, fucking Takeshi, teased forse più tardi and oh.

Oh, hell no.

"Ok, whoa, aspetta.” Hayato’s voice was sharp as it cracked through the store, rage making the normally melodic language biting and dangerous. “Chi cazzo pensi che stai parlando, tesoro? Stai cazzo miprendi in giro adesso? Sei fortunato che sto troppo acceso da quel piccolo di visualizzazione per saltare questo contatore e tagliare ti, ma , se tantoun’occhiata al mio ragazzo con qualcosa di meno di disinteresse palese, .Ora, se non ti dispiace, ho intenzione di portarlo di nuovo al nostro albergoe stiamo andando a scopare fino a quando non posso cazzo supportodomani. Arrivaderci, bellissima.”

With a glare that could have, should have been able to set the bitch aflame right then and there, Gokudera grabbed Takeshi’s hand in his and stormed out of the shop, angrily fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one up as he snarled, “Hai appena iniziato a flirtare con tutti da quando sono stato via, o è che cagna speciale?”

Takeshi snagged the cigarettes and drinks off the counter as Hayato dragged him out of the store with an apologetic smile for the enraged, embarrassed young lady behind the register.

It dropped as soon as they got outside, Hayato’s accusation ringing painfully in his ears. “I learned it from you, amore. If you flirt and smile with locals, you get things.” He tossed him the second pack of cigarettes before packing his own, pulling one out and lighting it. It amused him that the Storm hadn’t even questioned it yet…

"That being said, no, actually. I haven’t been flirting with, or seeing anyone since you vanished. I’ve been too busy trying to find you, to apologize to you and bring you home.”

He took a long drag from the smoke, closing his eyes for a second. It wasn’t really that he was angry, but… “Do you really think that lowly of me? Really, Hayato?”

"I don’t flirt with anyone. I glare at them in surly anger until they either kick me out or give me what I want. I’m not a people person, remember?” he snapped, catching the pack and shoving it into his back pocket as he stormed back towards the main road.

Of course he knew he was being unfair, but he didn’t realize it until Takeshi stopped dead, stopped and told him plainly that he hadn’t and the guilt hit Gokudera like a punch to the gut, hard enough to wind him. He turned and looked at his lover, his face completely stricken.

"I… God, no, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that—Christ, Take, I didn’t—” he cut himself off, pulled his cigarette from his mouth and scrubbed his hand over his face, pressing his fingers to his eyes in order to staunch the tears he could feel burning there. He’d already cried enough today, thank-you-very-much.

With his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, Hayato slunk back over to Takeshi, tucked his face into the crook of the swordsman’s shoulder, and looped his arms around him in a loose hold. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against his skin.

He sighed softly, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing the top of his head. “I’m sorry too… I shouldn’t have snapped. Let’s just go to the hotel, ok?” He pulled back a bit, tilting the bomber’s chin up and smiling at him warmly. “I love you. And I’m still guilty as hell that I hurt you.”

He nuzzled his cheek, turning him so they could walk with Takeshi’s arm still around his waist. All he wanted to do was lay down. Screw food, screw sleep, screw Italy and the mafia and everything else… he just wanted to be in a bed, with Hayato in his arms. He knew they were just getting bitchy because they were still emotional and stressed.

He really just wanted to prove to himself that his lover was still alive, still with him.

Hayato nodded, pulling one of his piercings into his mouth and gnawing on it a little as he stared up at his lover, pressed a kiss to his face and pulled away, letting Takeshi lead the way to the hotel. He was abnormally quiet and reserved on the walk, didn’t bother filling the silence like he normally would and instead stroked his thumb over the Rain’s knuckles, smoked his cigarette down to the butt and tossed it away.

"Why did you start smoking?" he asked, watching as Yamamoto smoked his cigarette much more slowly. The bigger man had always been so adamantly against it, pushing for Gokudera to quit, so the fact that he’d picked up the (admittedly) bad habit was… confusing.

A flush started high on his cheeks as the bomber asked the question he’d been kind of dreading. It was embarrassing to admit it, but… He finished his cigarette, tossing the butt away and looking down at him.

"I missed you." It sounded simple, but… "You… it was a smell thing at first. I just… I lit them because you always smell like cigarettes and gunpowder, and… well, it made me feel a little less lonely, ya know?" He looked away, staring up at the cars that traveled next to them. "I started smoking them to see what drew you to them, and… I just haven’t stopped." He swallowed, taking a deep breath and trying to curb the tears threatening.

"Tsuna’ll be disappointed, I’m sure. But he doesn’t know yet… I haven’t seen him since two days after you left."

Oh.

Gokudera froze, his eyes wide as he stared at his lover. He stopped walking, stopped, moving, stopped breathing for a second and then suddenly he was pressing forward, curling his arms around Takeshi’s neck to pull him down into a deep, greedy kiss.

"You have to stop," he said, licking the taste of nicotine out of the bigger man’s mouth, rubbing his thumbs across his cheekbones, under his eyes to catch a few errant tears. "You have to stop because if you need that smell so much, I have to be the one that does that for you. If you start smoking, too, what the hell do you need me for? No way. I’m not gonna let you smoke just to remember when I was gone."

He kissed Takeshi until his lips stung and only then did he pull away, lacing his fingers with the Rain’s as he elbowed him in the side and gave him a grin. “Come on, take me to bed, I haven’t gotten to do that lame couple cuddly shit in a month and a half. And I swear to god, if you tell anyone I actually like cuddling I’ll deny it and burn your baseball uniform.”

He’d been expecting ridicule, or anger, or even guilt. He hadn’t expected Hayato to simply stop moving, or to pull him into an almost dirty kiss in the middle of the main thoroughfare. Not that stopped him from returning the kiss, crushing his lithe lover against his chest and holding him there even as the silveret pulled away and stroked his face.

He’d been expecting to be told to stop. “I will, as long as you promise to never leave me again. Not like that, not because of a fight. I can’t… I don’t want to have to deal with it again.”

He could deal with the fast, sharp, almost desperate kisses… the way Hayato’s new piercings dug into his flesh a bit when the Storm got too carried away, the way he clung to him as if he was just as afraid of Takeshi leaving. And he could definitely deal with that bright, happy grin that Hayato only ever gave to him and Tsuna.

"Maa, Hayato… you don’t threaten a man’s baseball uniform… that’s just dirty pool." He laughed, tugging his hand and quickly leading him back to his hotel.

It wasn’t one of the most prestigious places, but the single bed was made and the room was clean. A small dufflebag was the only sign in the room that Takeshi was staying, though his jacket was tossed on a chair as soon as they got through the door. His shirt followed, revealing how little the normally robust athlete had been eating, how poorly he’d been caring for himself. He flopped onto the bed, holding his arm out for the bomber.

"Come to bed, Hayato…"

"We’re in the mafia, Takeshi," Gokudera murmured, nipping at his lover’s lower lip as he pulled away, sucking it between his own and dragging his tongue across it. He let it go as he sank back onto his feet, licking his own lips, making a show of gathering up Takeshi’s taste and grinning as he watched those dark eyes watch his mouth. "Playing dirty is what we do."

The silveret didn’t miss the urgency Takeshi dragged him towards the hotel with, and though he didn’t say a word, he made sure to press himself as close as he possibly could to the brunet, pressing kisses to his neck or his shoulder whenever he could steal a private moment. It wasn’t long before they were climbing the stairs to the Rain’s rented room, shoving open the door and Yamamoto was already stripping, half-naked before the Storm could even glance around.

Takeshi looked… not bad, because it was impossible for the swordsman to look bad, Hayato was convinced, but he looked thin, noticeably thinner than normal, and the bomber scowled as he tugged off his own shirts, dropping them to the floor carelessly and toeing out of his shoes and socks, leaving him in a pair of loose-fitting jeans (that had fit him perfectly well three weeks ago, but that was neither here nor there; Gokudera was far more concerned about his lover’s wellbeing.)

He dropped his beanie on top of the pile and then happily crawled into bed beside Takeshi, tucking himself against the bigger man’s chest, hooking a leg over his hip and his arms around his shoulders. In the brief, comfortable silence, Hayato pressed a careful, loving kiss to the brunet’s throat.

"You haven’t been eating, have you?" he asked simply, pressing his cheek to Takeshi’s chest to hide the worry in his eyes.

Takeshi shrugged, arms around Hayato and holding him close. “Haven’t really been hungry.” His fingers played at the bomber’s ribs, pointing them out. “You can’t even yell at me, love…” The last almost two months had been terrible for both of them, and all the Rain wanted to do was erase it from their memories.

It wasn’t possible, of course… he knew he was going to be haunted by his lover’s ‘death’ and subsequent disappearance for a long time. But they could try, right? At least… well, at least consciously.

"Let’s… can we just maybe let this go? It’s such a fucked up situation, but really… neither of us did anything wrong, exactly. I just… I don’t want to think about it anymore. Not if I have a choice.”

He tilted Hayato’s face up, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love you. No matter what else happens, that’s never going to change.”

"It’s different for me. I don’t swing around a weapon the actual size of my body," Gokudera grumbled, smacking his lover’s hands away and wrapping his own around his torso instead, suddenly self-conscious.

"Honestly, the sooner we put this away, the better. This… This hasn’t been a good month," he whispered. The bomber closed his eyes against the gentle kisses, feeling a pang in his heart, a burning that felt like a sweet pain, nothing at all like the agony that had been eating at him for near two months.

He uncurled his arms, pulled his lover down and kissed him, pressing as close as he possibly could and sighing at the simple pleasure of having this again, knowing that Takeshi was here.

A groan slipped from him as the bomber pressed their bodies together again and he kissed him back, parting his lips and rolling them over so his lover was pinned to the bed. He pulled back, smiling down at him before leaning down to kiss his neck, his shoulder, his collarbone. Any bit of skin he could get his lips on, he licked and kissed as if he was reclaiming territory.

"Hayato… my Hayato…" His voice was thick with desire and tears, letting his hands roam along pale flesh as he looked back up at him. He was real, he was there and not one of Takeshi’s almost endless nightmares. A soft sob slipped from him as he surged forward, kissing him almost roughly.

Gokudera swallowed Takeshi’s groan and gave one in return, pushing his tongue into the bigger man’s mouth to greedily taste as much of him as he could. When the Rain pushed him, he went willingly, shifting around until he could spread his legs, letting the brunet fall between them and sighing as he finally got a bit of the relief he didn’t know he needed.

He’d missed the weight of the swordsman on him, he’d missed his warmth and his smell and his taste and he was thankful for Yamamoto’s mouth on his own, because Christ, it was so close to just tumbling out.

Except that then Takeshi’s mouth was slanting off of his jaw, sliding down his neck and making the silveret arch and gasp, leaving his mouth nothing to do but form those damned words.

"T-Takeshi," he gasped, "I… Oh m-my god, mi sei mancato. Mi mancava la tua bocca, cristo, mi mancava il tuo assaggiare, mi mancava il tuo corpo e il tuo sorriso stupido e cazzo mi mancava le tue mani—”

The swordsman’s mouth cut him off as he hiccuped, choked on a sob and wrapped himself bodily around his boyfriend, the need to be near him an actual, physical ache now. He dug his fingers into the hard line of Takeshi’s back and tightened his legs around the man’s thighs, around his hips, crushing their bodies together and reveling in the feeling of being whole again.

Hayato’s scent, his body, his voice surrounded Takeshi, soothed him and helped fill in some of the cracks the time without him had worn into the swordsman. He knew he was crying again, couldn’t be bothered to stop as he rocked his hips down, desperate for all the contact he could get.

He was suddenly, achingly aroused; his pants were far too tight and he needed them off yesterday. He pulled back just a bit, fumbling at the button before finally just ripping it off, kicking his pants away and starting on the Storm’s. Clumsy fingers made better work of his jeans, spurred mostly by the knowledge that Hayato would kill him if he ruined the only pair of pants he had at the hotel.

A soft curse slipped from him as he realized how completely unprepared he was for this… as much as he wanted to be inside his bomber, lube and condoms weren’t high on his packing priority list. He hadn’t even touched himself, far too preoccupied with guilt and the seemingly endless search for his lover to even consider it.

With another muttered expletive, he wrapped long fingers around both of their lengths, stroking gently at first, though it wasn’t long before the combination of carnal want and desperate need had his hand flying over them. He licked into Hayato’s mouth, needing to touch as much of him as possible.

Not dead, not dead, not dead, not dead, not dead

He didn’t intend to make such a nakedly wanton sound when Takeshi rutted down against him, pushed his cock against the hard line of his own and made Hayato realize how hard he was, how hard they both were, and suddenly he needed the Rain inside him. He needed his lover as close as he could possibly get, to be swept away by the swordsman, to be claimed and reminded what he’d left, what he’d foolishly fucked up, what he’d almost lost.

Takeshi sat up and tore off his own pants, and Gokudera tried to find the words to tell him that he still carried a little bubble of lube and a condom in his wallet—old habits died hard, after all, and the Storm had always been the one with the forethought to be prepared for their sometimes-unexpected trysts. His words weren’t working, though, especially not when his lover was shaking, staring down at him with open adoration and want and need that had the smaller man gasping, had him pulling the brunet back against him the moment he’d kicked his own pants away from himself.

He keened as Yamamoto’s hand curled around them, calloused fingers gripping their lengths and stroking and oh… His eyes fluttered shut, his back arched and Gokudera sought Takeshi’s mouth with his own, muffling his sob into their messy, desperate kiss.

Yamamoto was clearly just as wrecked as he was—gone was the gentle patience that normally accompanied sex. He spared no time to try and take the bomber apart with his hands and mouth and voice and cock, not like he normally did, but this was good, this was what he needed, all hot and slick and hungry, half-sobbed whispers of each other’s names under the wet sound of Takeshi’s fist jerking them quickly, and fuck, it was good.

Hayato’s hips jumped in time with the Rain’s fingers, his mouth hanging open in a silent cry as his lover’s tongue violated him, licked into him and left him writhing, left him burning. “T-Take—fuck, fuck—Takeshi, please, o-oh my god—” the Storm gasped, digging his nails into the swordsman’s back as heat pooled in his belly, tightened his muscles and burned under his skin.

Later… later Takeshi would take the time to prepare him, to stretch him open, to taste him and make him sob on just his tongue and fingers. He would take the time to fuck into him, to mark him and reclaim him and let everyone know that Hayato belonged only to him. Later he would take the time to go slow, to make it last, to leave them both breathless and unable to move, passing out from bliss and exhaustion in each other’s arms.

Later, when he could think past the pain, the need, the unrelenting thrum of skin that was too tight and a heart that was too full.

In this moment, he was too far, too fast to make this anything but the desperate, animalistic rut that it was. He needed to feel Hayato cum, he needed his own release, and he needed them now; probably needed them over a month ago. He needed the reminder that they were both alive and safe, that they were together and his lover wasn’t going to be ripped away from him as soon as he woke up.

The Storm’s nails in his back, the steady litany of curses and pleas and the way he stiffened underneath him were quickly overwhelming the Rain, muscles tensing as he tightened his fingers and came across their chests with a loud cry.

Gokudera couldn’t stop the pathetic sounds tumbling from his lips, and honestly, he had given up trying. It seemed like every time he drew breath, he was choking on a moan; every time he pushed one out, it was a long, low whimper, a sharp, choked gasp of Takeshi’s name, a half-formed plea wrapped up in a sob.

And he was sobbing—he was weeping, Takeshi’s name like a prayer on his lips because he was here, he was here and he was the closest thing to a god Hayato had, that he’d ever had and this, now, here, with Takeshi, was the only religion he’d ever need.

Hayato dragged his nails down the Rain’s back and arched sharply, pressing his body up against the bigger man’s as he felt the swordsman shake, felt him come apart and he followed, tumbled down that precipice with him. The silveret came with a hoarse shout, clinging to his lover as he trembled with the force of it, as he wept because this, the touch of his lover and the taste of him, the weight of him and his heat, his voice and his everything was too much and not enough, it was never going to be enough.

"Takeshi," he gasped when he could finally form words again, his voice raw and open in a way it had never been before. "Takeshi, I—god… I love you—I love you, please, please don’t ask me to leave again, I c-can’t—I won’t make it, fuck, don’t make me leave again, please.”

It felt like forever, and not long enough, before Takeshi finally sagged on top of Hayato, heart-breaking sobs ripping through him as he tried to muffle them in the bomber’s neck.

He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t think… all he could do was cry and shake his head. No, no no no, Hayato would never have to leave, would never be allowed to leave; he was considering cuffing the Storm to his side so he never lost him again.

For now, though, all he could do was soak the pillow and his lover’s shoulder with tears, shaking them both with his fear, his pain, and his overwhelming relief. He hadn’t just found his missing boyfriend… it was like Hayato was somehow resurrected, like he’d risen from the grave when Takeshi was sure he’d lost him forever.

He hadn’t realized how messed up he still was over his ‘death’ until just then.

The tears finally slowed to great, hiccuping gasps that he tried to hide with a humorless chuckle. “Hayato can’t leave me again… I wouldn’t survive it. I almost-” He stopped, bit his lip hard and started to pull away. “We… we should get cleaned up.”

Hayato held Takeshi to him as he sobbed, brokenly whispering apologies and consolations as he wept, too, though his sorrow had always been more reserved, more quiet, and he silently pressed his tears to the top of his lover’s head, though there was no way to hide how his body shook with sobs.

Takeshi may not have died, but Hayato had lost him just as truly, had had to live knowing that the one person he’d given everything to, the one person that he would do anything, would give anything for would rather live without him.

The bomber wept like he hadn’t in years, like he hadn’t let himself do in a month and a half, like he hadn’t cried since his mother died, since he left home, since he’d been rejected and refused and turned away from every family he’d known.

His breath was still hitching when his lover calmed down, but he didn’t loosen his grip at all, pressed a smattering of kisses over whatever skin he could reach as he whispered fiercely, “You will have to knock me unconscious and leave me in a ditch in a different fucking country, one whose language I don’t speak, in order to keep me away from you for any longer than necessary.”

The silveret tightened his limbs around the swordsman when he tried to pull away, a sharp whine tumbling from his lips as he pleaded, “Just—just wait. Just wait, please just… Takeshi, just stay here. Please. Just f-for a little while longer.” It was unlike him, he knew it, but he just… he needed this. He needed this, and he wasn’t ready to give it up yet.

He was scared… he’d almost let something slip that he wasn’t ready for his lover to know… maybe ever. But the soft pleas couldn’t be denied and he settled back again, tightening his grip around the smaller frame and sighing shakily against his skin. He finally closed his eyes, breathing in the strange mix of scents that always meant comfort, love, and home to him. They made him dizzy.

"I’m… I’m sorry, love. Please… just…" He couldn’t do this, didn’t want to do this. “It hurts too much. I just… I want to clean up and crawl back into bed, and just not move.” He was so selfish, but… If he laid there without any buffer time, he was going to open his mouth and ruin everything…

He could not deal with it if Hayato was mad at him right now. He just… he already felt fragile enough.

There was something else they were supposed to be doing too, but he couldn’t be bothered to remember what it was. His head lifted and he nuzzled his lover’s cheek with his nose, a very tiny smile on his lips. “Please?”

Yeah, that was what he needed—he needed the swordsman’s strong arms to crush him to his body, let him feel the bumps and ridges of muscle and bone and remind him that he wasn’t alone anymore. Gokudera nosed into Takeshi’s hair and breathed in deep, breathed in and felt his lungs loosen for the first time in weeks, felt his ribs expand and make room for the breath, for his heart, which had decided to put itself back together (slowly) and move back to its spot.

The bomber stubbornly held on until the Rain lifted his head, nuzzled his cheek, and then the silveret cracked open an eye to stare, waiting until his mouth was close enough to kiss before he moved again.

"Alright, fine," the Storm whispered grudgingly, loosening his octopus-hold on the brunet and sitting up as Yamamoto did. He reached a hand up to brush his knuckled across Takeshi’s cheek, sucking one of his piercings into his mouth and gnawing on it as he swiped his thumb over the bigger man’s cheekbone.

"I… I’m sorry for… for leaving," he whispered. It obviously took him a lot to say that—he’d spent the first few weeks here livid, angry that Takeshi had ordered him out, even angrier that he’d just gone, hadn’t stayed and fought for the man he claimed to love so much.

He hated himself for that.

"I’m sorry, Take… I love you."

That soft touch felt amazing… He leaned into the brush on his cheek, smiling at the silveret and leaning forward to kiss him softly. “I’m sorry for making you leave. Please… just understand that I never wanted you to leave… I honestly thought I was seeing things. I love you too. Always. There is nothing you can do that will make me want you to go away.”

"Well, except haunt me when ‘your body’ is found decapitated in a tub…"

He allowed himself a small chuckle, despite how shaky he still was. Maybe one day, this would be a funny story… something they could tell their kids.

His hands slid underneath the bomber’s back and knees, scooping him up and standing. “Shower. By the time we get out, Tsuna will probably have texted our itinerary and we can think about getting some sleep.”

He just prayed he could sleep… Hayato was there, hopefully the nightmares would stay away.

Hayato grimaced, looking away and grumbling, “Okay, listen, I can explain—” only to stop, giving a small (completely manly) squeak as strong arms lifted him from the bed. He scowled and gave his lover a pointed glare despite the pleased flush on his cheeks—okay, so maybe he was a bit weak to the way Takeshi could move him around like a doll.

"I can walk, you know," he mumbled, leaning his cheek against Takeshi’s shoulder despite his protests, one hand moving to rest over the fingers curled around his ribcage. He didn’t let himself show physical affection much, not like this, and for the first time he asked himself why the hell not. This was… this, the simple touch of the Rain’s skin, the comfort he got from leaning against his chest, the warmth that soaked into his soul, this was something he should take advantage of more often.

When his lover started their shower and set him down, the bomber immediately gravitated back to him, leaning his back against the bigger man’s chest and sighing as they stood beneath the spray. He pulled Takeshi’s arms around himself and pressed back, tipping his head up to press a kiss to the underside of the swordsman’s jaw.

“Mi sei mancato. Ogni secondo di ogni giorno, mi sei mancato.”

He didn’t completely understand the new Italian phrase, but he got the jist of it at least. “I’ll always find you, Hayato. I don’t ever want to do this again.” He smiled at the sweet gesture, so unlike his usually shy and brash Storm, tilting his head down to kiss him.

He grabbed the crappy hotel soap and lathered his hands, letting them slide soothingly along the bomber’s frame. Despite the warm water and very pretty picture in front of him, he found himself more exhausted then aroused, finally just tucking his head in the crook of the silveret’s neck and holding him as the water poured over them. It was far too much effort to move, or to think.

It was ridiculous how much he just wanted to be held and petted and told that everything was going to be all right.

Gokudera hummed a quiet agreement and leaned back to accept the bigger man’s kiss, reaching a hand up to cup Yamamoto’s cheek, drawing out the kiss just a little longer, just because he couldn’t really believe it, still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Takeshi was here now.

He sighed as his lover pulled away from him and soaped up his hands, dragged them along his body and even though he should have been turned on, he was more just… he was so relieved, he was so tired, he was drained and it felt like Takeshi’s hands on his body were the only things keeping him attached to the earth. Without his Rain, he was pretty sure he’d just…

Hayato gave another sigh, a deeper one, as Takeshi pushed his face into the crook of his neck and held him close. The silveret placed his hands over the brunet’s and pressed his face to the crown of his head, pressed a kiss to him and turned in his arms, seeming to understand that the swordsman needed this as much as he did, needed to be wrapped in his arms as much as Hayato needed it, too.

"I’m not going anywhere," he whispered against Takeshi’s ear, pulling away just slightly to return the favor, soaping up his hands and dragging them slowly over the bigger man’s body. Once they were both clean, he wrapped his arms tight around the brunet’s waist, leaned his head against his chest and pressed a kiss to his collarbone, giving a long, slow sigh.

"Let’s go to bed. It’s been almost two months since I slept more than two hours at a time."

He nodded, turning the water off and stepping out of the shower. It didn’t take them long to dry off and Takeshi tugged Hayato silently back to the bed. A quick check of his phone said they were leaving at six in the evening the following day, so he tossed it off to the side, ignoring the thud as it hit the floor.

As soon as Hayato had cuddled up into his arms, Takeshi gave a soft, almost pained sigh of relief and closed his eyes. He was asleep only minutes later, the physical and emotional exhaustion catching up to him all at once.

It was almost a full two hours later before the Rain started whimpering. He rolled away from Hayato, thrashing a bit before he sat straight up, eyes wide open but blank as a scream was ripped from his throat. Cold sweat soaked his skin and tears poured down his cheeks. “Hayato!!”

Gokudera was unused to seeing Takeshi so careless with his things, so when the bigger man just tossed his phone, just let it clatter to the floor to pull him into bed, the silveret snorted and fell with him, pressing himself bodily against his lover. He nosed into his neck, rested his lips against the hollow of his throat, and curled his arms tight around the swordsman, feeling the burn of tears at the back of his eyes, the tightness of emotion in his throat.

He’d missed this so much more than he realized.

"I love you," he said, choked it out, clung to Takeshi until he fell into an uneasy sleep. He kept thinking it was a dream, kept dreaming that he woke up without Takeshi there, woke up alone and sobbing into his pillow again, woke up with the sounds of those words, bitter and angry and spiteful and so full of hate ringing in his ears.

It seemed as though a good night’s sleep was going to avoid him tonight, too. With a huff, the bomber pushed himself out of bed, kissed the dip of Takeshi’s shoulder and grabbed his cigarettes, padding out onto the small balcony as he lit one up. He didn’t notice the thrashing, didn’t hear the soft, choked sobs, but he certainly heard when the swordsman sat bolt upright, screamed his name from the throes of his waking nightmare.

Hayato jumped, dropped his cigarette and scurried back into the room, sliding back onto the bed and curling his arms tight around his lover. He stroked his hair, pressing gentle kisses to the crown of his head, and whispered, “Hey, shh, I’m here, okay? Wake up, Take, I’m here, I swear, baby. Wake up… Please, hey, come on…”

It took him a minute, shaking violently and gasping in breath before he finally, slowly turned his eyes down, stared at the bomber next to him like he’d seen a ghost… or a miracle.

"Hayato… god…" His arms wrapped around the silveret and crushed him against his chest, trying desperately, but unsuccessfully, to curb his tears. He didn’t speak at all for a few minutes, just relearning how to breathe with the bomber in his arms. When the feeling of his heart trying to pound out of his ribs finally lessened, he laid back, pulling Hayato onto his chest and running his hands up and down his lover’s sides.

He needed to remind himself that Hayato was alive, was there and safe.

"When I found out… Tsuna was wrecked, and I guess he wasn’t thinking. Or maybe he trusted me… I don’t know. But. He left. And all I knew was that you were gone and he was gone and I was alone…"

A shudder wracked through him and he closed his eyes. Knowing Hayato would see eventually, he lifted a hand, showing a faint, jagged scar down his forearm. It looked like it had been healed for years, but it definitely wasn’t there before the bomber had left on his mission. “Ryohei showed up… I’ve never seen him so angry. Tsuna… he doesn’t know, or I don’t think he’d have let me leave in the first place, but…

"My nightmares… they’re never about you dying… they’re always about me dying and you still hating me… or me being dead and you finding my body…”

He was so tired, so sick of crying and hurting and feeling the gnawing, empty bitterness building in his chest, but… How could he complain when Takeshi gave a sharp exhale, breathed his name like it was a prayer, and crushed him to his chest like that? How could he complain when he looked at him like he was everything he ever wanted? How could he possibly complain when he had Takeshi back?

He buried his tears in the bigger man’s chest as he held the Rain, soaking up his warmth until the man shifted, pulled away and tugged at Gokudera until his smaller body was splayed over his own. The silveret sighed, shifted so that none of his awkward angles dug into his lover, and rested his head over Yamamoto’s heart. It was stupid, it was cliché and childish, but he needed to hear the strong pulse in his ear.

His lover’s voice startled him. Green eyes glanced up, but Takeshi’s gaze was far away so he let his eyes fall again, his heart clenching at the swordsman’s words, a sick feeling of dread creeping over him. He dragged his gaze to the offered limb and he heard the anger that buzzed in his mind, the anger and the hurt and the outrage that Takeshi would try to… to…

Hayato closed his eyes and ignored the wetness that clumped his lashes, instead reaching out to curl his fingers around the swordsman’s wrist, bringing the bigger man’s arm closer. He pressed a line of kisses down the length of the scar, rested his cheek against it and tried to hide how tears dripped quietly down his cheeks—he couldn’t be angry, not really, not when he’d done the exact same thing.

Well. Not the exact same—Takeshi was brave in a way he could never be, courageous and strong, and though it was sick to think it, Gokudera could admit that it took that kind of strength, that kind of courage to actively try to take one’s life.

Instead, Gokudera had… He’d gotten into fights he knew he’d lose with groups of rival families that he’d seen out and about. He was on their turf and he knew it, but if they’d just kill him… The name of the Vongola was too strong, though, and they’d always left him alive, dragged him through streets and alleys until he was out of their territory, left him there to bleed and drag himself back upright. Or he’d stared at the busy traffic in Roma, in Napoli, in Salerno; he’d stared and he’d stepped out into the street only to have a quick passerby drag him out of the way, a quick driver swerve. Or he’d drank himself into a stupor, drank well past the point he should have, drank and drank and drank and passed out in an alley or alone in his hotel room only to wake in a hospital, or in a strange room, or in his own bed with someone tending to him, helping his body purge itself of poison rather than letting him choke and die on it.

Gokudera understood the helplessness that came with losing his other half.

Takeshi never, ever needed to know that, though, so he just shushed him, pressed another line of kisses down the length of the scar and then shifted to press one to the bigger man’s lips, chaste and sweet and tender. “Remind me to thank Ryohei,” he whispered, “and to punch you. Even when I’m gone, don’t you fucking dare, don’t you dare kill yourself, idiot. If you die, who’s gonna remember that I wasn’t just some asshole with dynamite? And who will look after Tsuna and the family? You have to keep going. You have to live, please, Takeshi, I’m not worth your death. I’m not.”

He took a shaky breath and lifted his hand, resting his palm against his lover’s cheek to steady himself as he pushed up, pressing his mouth more firmly against Yamamoto’s. He didn’t want to relive his nightmares, he didn’t want to think about what dream-Takeshi had said and done, so he drowned his fears and his worries in his lover instead.

It was easier this way.

Takeshi sighed, sobbed almost, against his mouth, pulling him tighter and kissing him back. He was still shaken from his nightmare, and his confession, and the niggling thought in the back of his mind that Hayato might have tried something similar and no one would have been there to stop him.

He quickly decided he didn’t want to know. There were levels of guilt he couldn’t handle.

The cellphone trilled loudly in the gloom of the setting sun, actually making the Rain jump and almost bite Hayato’s lip. He laughed a bit, leaning up to kiss him quickly in apology before rolling him off his chest to go for the phone. “That’ll be Tsuna… again. Maybe he got us an earlier flight.”

Flipping the phone open, he blinked and started laughing harder, tossing the phone gently to the bomber. Only one line had been sent, and it was obviously from their boss.

[From: Tsuna] Eat, idiots.

Shaking his head, he sat up and kissed Hayato’s forehead, padding over to grab his pants. Boxers slid on, cigarettes and lighter were slipped from the pocket and he glanced at the Storm and then towards the balcony; an obvious invitation.

Gokudera had gotten quite comfortable here astride his lover, rocked his hips down to show it, swallowed Takeshi’s sigh and pressed his palms to the bigger man’s face to swallow his sad sigh. He wanted nothing more than to kiss away his sadness, to touch and taste and reassure and remember what it was like to have complete safety, to be completely loved.

Of course, Takeshi’s phone picked that exact moment to ring, and the silveret broke away with a soul-deep groan, pressing his face to his lover’s shoulder and scowling against his skin. He took the phone as it was passed to him, groaning but smiling—leave it to their friend to care for them from half the world away.

With a reluctant sigh, the silveret rolled off of the Rain, flopping onto his back and staring obviously as the swordsman strode across the room, his green eyes burning as he watched the play of muscles under tanned skin. Yamamoto may have been thinner, true, but his body was still quite a sight to behold.

He heaved another sigh and stood, stretching and popping the joints in his back, and then stepped into his own loose jeans, foregoing underwear altogether, instead fishing around for his own pack of cigarettes and joining his lover out on the balcony, scowling again when the brunet beside him lit up.

"You really should quit, you know. Only one of us is allowed to get cancer, asshole."

"Maa, I will." Once they were home, and safe. Until then… he pulled in another lungful of smoke, feeling the trembling fading away. He shifted, moving so he could bracket Hayato against the rail, nuzzling into his neck between drags.

As terrifying as his nightmare had been, waking up to his Storm in his arms calming him had fixed something in him. As the initial mind-numbing fear had faded, he felt lighter and more focused than he had in almost two months. He pressed sweet, gentle kisses to his shoulder, smiling against his skin.

"Mmmm, what does Hayato want to eat?" He didn’t honestly care, but he really wanted to get some food in his lover - he was far too thin and it was about time that Takeshi started taking care of him properly again. "We can go out, or we can scandalize the delivery people by greeting them mostly naked." And he was going to be making at least one trip out, because he needed supplies.

Making a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, Gokudera leaned back against the rail, resting his elbows on it and tipping his head back to blow his cigarette smoke towards the sky. It was a testament to how lost in thought he was that he didn’t realize how close Takeshi was until his arms were on either side of him, his face pressed into the crook of his neck.

Lazily, the smaller man lifted a hand and pushed it into Yamamoto’s hair, curling his fingers into it and stroking his lover’s scalp. The smile against his skin brought a smile to his own lips, and though he still ached, he didn’t hurt anymore. Takeshi was here, within arms’ reach, and he was still in love with Hayato, just as desperately as the Storm was with him.

"Hayato isn’t very hungry," Gokudera murmured, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and, using a finger to tip Takeshi’s face up to his own, pressed a kiss to his lips, breathing the smoke into the Rain’s mouth as he lapped up his taste. He finally pulled away when his lungs began to burn from something other than the smoke, his pupils blown wide, and he cleared his throat, blushed and looked away, pushed his hand through his own hair before taking the last drag and crushing the butt under his bare heel.

“But, before you get pissy, I’ll eat. Let’s go grab something. It’ll be faster, you know? And I don’t want to have to wait for someone to bring us our shit. I know a place around here; pizza, fast and cheap and authentic, and the family that owns the place loves the shit outta me,” the bomber murmured. He made no move to remove himself from the swordsman, though, and instead curled his arms around the bigger man, pressing his lips to his temple.

Takeshi opened his mouth to argue that Hayato had to eat, that he knew he’d been skipping meals and he wasn’t allowed to anymore… to say anything really. But the finger against his chin startled him into silence, the press of lips against his own made him melt.

It took him a second to register what the silveret was doing and he automatically breathed the smoke in, clutching Hayato to him as his knees went a little weak and his head spun. He couldn’t tell if it was from the sudden inhalation of the smoke or the bomber’s actions, but either way, he wasn’t ready for it to stop.

"Hayato…" That… was definitely a whine. His lover was talking about pizza or something… fast and cheap… another whine slipped from him and he pressed the smaller form against the balcony rail, pressing his hips tight against the Storm’s. "Th-that… wasn’t fair…"

"D-do it again…"

Honestly, Hayato had not expected a reaction that strong. He gasped against Takeshi’s skin as the bigger man crushed their bodies together, squirmed between his legs to push and the bomber arched, giving a soft cry as he lifted a leg, hooked it around Takeshi’s hip and pushed back.

The demand shocked a laugh, breathless and light, out of him, and he fished his carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit one with shaking fingers and pressed it to his lips, taking the first drag and letting the nicotine calm him a little. The second breath was deeper, burned a bit as he held it, pressed his mouth to Takeshi’s and exhaled as he kissed him.

This one wasn’t shy, it wasn’t hesitant, it wasn’t cautious; this time, when he kissed his lover, it was open-mouthed and filthy, his tongue sweeping between the swordsman’s lips to taste the acrid burn of smoke in his mouth. The burn faded, the smoke dissipated, and Gokudera pulled away to take another drag before diving back in, breathing the vapor into Takeshi’s lungs and chasing it with the taste of his own tongue.

He was almost expecting to be mocked for his desperate demand, so when Hayato wrapped himself around him, and pulled another one out, he whimpered, lifting him up and pressing him against the wall.

It was definitely the kisses that made him dizzy. The Storm’s tongue lapping inside his mouth made his hips rock up, desperate in a way that had nothing to do with loss or death and everything to do with needing to be inside his lover as quickly as possible.

He finally pulled back as the last of the second drag faded, panting harshly and staring up at him with eyes gone almost black with need. “God… fuck, Hayato… I want… I…” At one point, he had been able to speak in full sentences, though at the moment he couldn’t remember where, or how.

He gave up on talking, carrying the Storm back to the bed and laying him down. His hands slid along his bare ribs as he bent over, kissing a line down that slender chest towards his stomach.

This easy strength, the way it was like nothing for Takeshi to lift him, pin him and hold his weight, never failed to make Hayato dizzy with need, to make him writhe and lose his breath, to make him ache.

After nearly two months without a touch of any kind, that strength was enough to make him come undone. He curled his legs around Takeshi’s hips and used his added height to press down on the bigger man, sucking at the swordsman’s tongue lewdly, nipping at his lips, breathing poison between them until it was gone and only the taste of Takeshi remained.

Gokudera was panting by the time they pulled apart, his own green eyes glazed, dark and wild and hungryas he pushed his hips down, rutted against his lover with a breathy, wanton sound. “Yeah… Yeah, please, fuck—” the Storm gasped—his coherence had evaporated with the smoke, left behind nothing but a burn, a need, an ache that needed to be soothed with Takeshi’s body, a hole that needed to be filled with his cock, and he clung to the bigger man as he pushed away from the wall and moved back to the bed.

The silveret sighed as he was set down, spread his legs and pulled Takeshi between them, arched up at the gentle play of fingers on his chest. His fingers closed over the Rain’s, clinging to them as he tipped his head back and gave a low moan, even the brush of lips over his torso—slow and hot and promising—making his cock throb and his hips buck.

"Takeshi…"

His name sounded amazing on the Storm’s lips; a promise, a prayer as Takeshi moved down, nipping and licking and sucking at the flesh of his stomach. He untangled their fingers gently, trailed them down his sides and along his waist band. He undid the button of his jeans, kneeling on the floor and nosing at the silveret’s hard cock through the fabric for a moment.

An impish thought overtook him and he leaned up slightly, grabbing the tiny metal zipper with his teeth and staring with dark eyes up at his lover as he lifted it a bit and drug it down. He couldn’t help the low moan as Hayato’s cock sprung free of its confines. His boxers were already too tight, damp as just the thought of his Storm beneath him made him leak precum.

His hands tugged the loose jeans down as he licked a stripe up the bomber’s length. He opened his mouth, breathing hot air along his head before swallowing him down slowly.

Gokudera’s fingers moved from Takeshi’s to the sheets at the Rain’s gentle urging, tangling into the cotton as warm lips and blunt teeth made their way down his body. It was almost overwhelming, but the silveret couldn’t tear his eyes away, not when the brunet looked like that, so concentrated and playful, hungry and devious. Yamamoto nuzzled against his cock and Hayato arched, lips falling open in a silent cry as his hips twitched, pushed up insistently.

His breath caught audibly as Takeshi caught the tab of his zipper between his teeth and pulled down and he swore hoarsely, reaching down to run his fingers through dark hair, to curl his hand around the back of the Rain’s head. The blush that burned in his cheeks, down his neck and to his chest was hot as his length sprang free of the denim, smacked wetly against his belly and drooled as his lover tugged his pants down.

"T-Take—nnh! Oh… oh my god, Ta-Takeshi!” Gokudera gasped as the Rain dragged his tongue up along the length of him, his eyes slamming shut as he struggled to remember how to breathe, much less form words.

He gave up on words when the brunet wrapped his lips around him and sank down, wrapped him in wet and heat and fuck, it had been so long, it had been too long—Hayato whimpered and bucked up, bit his lip to stifle a cry as he felt the head of his cock bump the back of Takeshi’s throat. This… This was bad. There was no way he could last, not like this, not with his lover so good, so perfect, so hot and slick and tight around him, his tongue against his head and his lips around his length.

Fuck.

To say he’d missed the taste of his lover, the sounds he made and the feel of him shaking beneath him, would be an understatement. He was shaking himself, hands running along the silveret’s thighs as his head bobbed slowly up and down his length.

He could feel his muscles tensing under his fingers, feel the way he was shaking. As much as he wanted to tell him to just let go… he also wanted to enjoy this. He moaned around his shaft, teasing his tongue along the underside.

His own cock throbbed with need and he sighed around the bomber, pulling off teasingly. “Maa… don’t want to end the party so soon…” A hand moved over and tightened around the base of his cock, keeping the silveret from losing control. He trailed his tongue down, sucking his balls into his mouth for a moment before lifting him to lick a strip across his hole. “There’s so much more I want to do to you.”

He just hoped he’d be able to get to it all before he lost his own control.

Even the slow,the painfully slow pace that Takeshi took as he sucked his cock was nearly too much for Gokudera. He didn’t realize how starved for touch of any kind (but especially this kind—he was in his twenties, after all, his body still craved this like air) he’d been until he had Takeshi here, his mouth on his dick and his hands, warm and strong and grounding, on his thighs.

Fuck, he’d missed his Rain.

That moan nearly did him in, the way Takeshi’s tongue flit along the underside of him, along the frenulum and over the head of his cock brought him closer, and he was honestly only one carefully-placed brush of lips away from orgasm when, of course, the bigger man saw fit to pull off of him.

"Fucking—goddamnit, Takeshi, come on,” Hayato tried to growl, he did, but it ended up coming out as a whine, high and breathless, as he tugged at his lover’s hair. Strong fingers closed around the base of his cock and he damn near wailed, jerking his hips up just to find that there was no relief to be had there, either. His cock spasmed in his lover’s grip as that hot tongue slid down, pulled his balls into Yamamoto’s mouth, and he would have come then and there but the fucking grip the Rain had on him prevented it, aborted his release and made him writhe in agonized pleasure on the bed.

By the time he came down off of that, could blink away the colors spotting his vision, he found himself spread, his legs over either one of the swordsman’s shoulders as hot breath washed over his hole.

Green eyes popped wide. Hayato’s fingers scrambled for purchase on anything, ended up twisting into the sheets and tugging as Yamamoto’s tongue slid over him, silk-smooth and slick, and fuck, if that wasn’t enough to get to him the fucking Rain’s filthy promise certainly was.

He tried to think up some witty comeback, some sharp retort, some snarky something but all he could manage was a whimper as he threw his arm over his face, tilting his hips up in a silent offering.

Takeshi had learned a few tricks during the time they’d been together. He knew what would the Storm up, made him splutter and reach for weaponry. He knew what calmed him after a bad day, the little things that would make his eyes drift shut and tug soft, purr-like moans from him.

And he knew the buttons to push to turn his fiery lover into a puddle of lust, loose and wanton with Takeshi’s name on his lips. His tongue slid over his hole once, twice, and a third time before teasing its way inside him, lapping at him and soaking his skin.

He couldn’t bite back the soft moan at how tight and perfect his lover felt even just around his tongue. Slowly, carefully, he pressed his finger in next to his tongue, quirking the tip to run lightly over Hayato’s prostate.

Another finger slid into his wet ass, stretching him out as gently as he could. He ignored the Storm’s little whines and curses; it had been far too long since they’d done anything like this and he refused to hurt him. “Wanna be inside you… dammit…” He actually pouted a little, eyes searching the room as if lube would magically have appeared while he wasn’t looking. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten again.

Hayato understood that one of Takeshi’s favorite pastimes was teasing him. They’d been together for years, after all; the man knew all of his buttons for all of his moods, all of his likes and dislikes, every single trick and tease that drove him crazy, and liked to exploit them. Repeatedly.

Today was not a day he wanted those buttons pressed, but he realized quickly that, per usual, the swordsman clearly didn’t give a damn. He whined as the bigger man’s tongue lapped at him, dragging over his entrance until the bomber was squirming, the hand on the back of Takeshi’s head pulling him closer until his tongue finally slid in, pushed at his insides and made the silveret’s eyes roll back in his head.

His mouth parted on a silent cry, one that was voiced when the slick muscle speared deeper into him, slicked him up so that a finger could wriggle in. When the tip dragged over his prostate the silveret had to bite down hard on his lower lip to stifle a whine, his hips jerking upwards against the stronger man’s hold. It got him nowhere, of course—his cock was aching, drooling and throbbing within the tight circle of Yamamoto’s fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it but lay there and press his fist to his mouth, muffle a sob as a second finger slid in, slicked up by his lover’s saliva to stretch and push against too-long-unused muscles.

For a moment, he didn’t comprehend his lover’s words at all, but then the full impact of what Takeshi said hit him, stole his breath, left him a little dizzy and a little desperate. A need burned in him—he needed Takeshi’s dick buried in him. He needed the look on his lover’s face, the look of complete bliss he got when he fucked him. He needed to hear the man come apart above him, inside him. He needed—

Fuck. He needed his wallet.

"In—oh—fuuuck—" the Storm cut himself off to moan shamelessly as two fingers scissored, crooked,dragged over the length of his prostate, and he swore in three different languages as he tried to bring his focus back, remember why it was so important for him to retain coherence right now.

Lube, right.

"M-my wallet—Take, my wallet, th-there’s—fuck, fuck, there’s l-lube and a condom, oh god, please just—fucking—Gesù Cristo, si prega di fottermi.”

Wallet? Wallet. Takeshi leaned up and kissed him quickly, carefully pulling his fingers out before scrambling off the bed and across the room. Pants pants pants, ah HA!

He tugged the lube and condom out, bounding back over with a bright grin and almost black eyes. The wrapper was ripped open and he moaned softly as the condom slid over his overheated skin. As much as he wanted to make this slow, romantic and loving, he didn’t think he had it in him to wait much longer.

The lube was broken open, and he slicked his fingers back up, pressing them into his lover with an urgency he had been trying to hide before. The rest of the lube went over his own cock before he pressed the head against his lover’s ass.

"Hayato… fuck, Hayato… I love you…" He was trembling, but kept himself from just burying his shaft inside the Storm by sheer force of will. It had been too long, he didn’t want to hurt him… He groaned, low and desperate as tight heat wrapped around him, panting into a pale shoulder as he finally, finally felt his hips brush against the silveret’s ass.

"S-so fucking tight… god… Hayato, please… I need…"

Despite the heat and hunger and need burning through him (could desire take a liquid form because Gokudera was sure that was what was running through his veins now, not blood), Hayato snorted as he watched his lover, strong and dangerous man that he was, bound across the room in search of his wallet. It was like their first time all over again, honestly.

The thought brought a fond smile to his face, and when the swordsman returned to him he sat up and cupped the bigger man’s face, pulled him into a kiss that started out sweet, pure and loving, and then devolved into something hot and wet and dirty as the brunet rolled the condom over himself, moaned low and wanton into his mouth.

"Takesh—i,” the bomber gasped, falling back to the bed and arching, pushing his hips up as thick fingers pushed deep inside him, twisted and thrust. His body accepted them greedily, pulled his lover into him and god, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if Takeshi was going to tease him again.

Thankfully, the brunet had mercy. He crooked his fingers once, twice, made the bomber swear as stars spotted his vision, and then pulled out once the silveret was slick. Hayato heard the wet sound of the Rain’s fist on his own cock and he whined, tilted his hips up and murmured a low curse when the bigger man covered his body with his own, pressed him down into the bed and pushed his cockhead into him.

Oh.

It stung, it burned in a way that it hadn’t since that first time and somehow that just made him more frenzied—to hell with going slow, to hell with taking their time, Gokudera needed Takeshi in a way he never had before. He needed that affirmation that the brunet was here, that he still loved him that he wasn’t leaving, wasn’t sending him away again.

He curled himself around his lover, pulled him in deep and choked out a cry as Takeshi sank into him to the hilt, one hand flying down to wrap around the base of his cock again—fuck, fuck, it was… it was too much. He was crying again, goddamnit, muffling a whimper against Takeshi’s shoulder as he gasped, “I love you. I love you—fuck, oh my god, I’ve missed… mmn! M-missed this, missed you, fuck, Takeshi,please—”

Takeshi’s arms wrapped themselves around the smaller frame and lifted him, turning so Hayato was straddling his lap and rocking his hips up, burying himself deeper inside his lover.

He needed this, the closeness, feeling the Storm’s hot breaths and wet tears against his skin, holding him tight against his chest and listening to every punched out noise that came from him as the Rain slammed himself into him over and over.

There was no way this was going to last, no way to add finesse or call this anything more than fucking. And he needed it more than air, a fist tight in silver locks as he marked the bomber’s skin with dark bruises and whispered endearments.

"I love you… more than anything…. Hayato, stay… please… stay with me, I missed you so much… don’t leave…"

His cock pulsed and he reached down, gently tugging the Storm’s fingers from his shaft, twining them together. “Let it go, love… cum for me… please…” He finally captured his lips in a deep, desperate kiss, letting his tongue slide along Hayato’s possessively.

There was a strange, dizzying sense of vertigo as Takeshi lifted him, lifted and turned and moved him andChrist, he’d missed this. He’d missed his easy strength, missed the fact that the swordsman used it, regularly, despite how he complained about it, because Takeshi could read him like a fucking book and he knew how much Hayato loved it.

"H-haa! Ah—ah—T-Take… shi!" Gokudera’s cries were ripped from him, forced up and out as the bigger man fucked him, used his ample strength to pull the Storm down and bury himself deep, pressing himself as far into Gokudera as he could. Green eyes widened as an overwhelming sense of full hit him like a fucking train and he dug his nails into Takeshi’s back, sobbing his pleasure and his relief and his need into the Rain’s neck.

The fist in his hair stung but it was good, it was grounding, and the silveret did nothing to hide his voice as his lover pulled his head back, started sucking marks onto him that made him bite off curses and gasp, “F-fu—uck, yes, I—oh god… oh god—”

He was close, he was close, and then Yamamoto reached down, curled their fingers together and pulled his hand away from the base of his cock and the bomber was coming even as Takeshi begged him for it, his voice a ragged shout against his lover’s mouth.

As the bomber tensed up and tightened perfectly around him, Takeshi’s head rolled back, mouth open in an almost silent shout as he came hard enough to white his vision out. He clung to his bomber, holding him tight against him as waves of pleasure rolled over him.

It could have been seconds, or hours, or even days for all he knew, wrapped around and in his lover, surrounded by his scent and his heaving breaths. But finally, his vision cleared, his muscled untensed and he could drop his head to Hayato’s shoulder, panting harshly.

"M-maa… Hayato…" He couldn’t think, still couldn’t form words that strung together properly. He settled for just clinging, reminding his body, and his heart, that the Storm was really there, that all was well, and no, he hadn’t just dreamed one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

"Love you…"

Gokudera whimpered as he was crushed to Takeshi’s chest, trembling against the man that clung to him as he felt the Rain’s cock twitch, throb inside him before he emptied himself. He groaned weakly as he sagged, boneless, against the bigger man, tucking his face into the crook of his neck and sucking in great gulps of air as he struggled to remember how to think.

Fuck.

Hayato was tingling, his fingertips were numb from the strength of his orgasm, and there was a dumb grin on his face that only widened when he heard the Rain murmur his name like he was in awe. The Storm hummed, pressed a smattering of kisses, languid and lazy and slow, against the skin before him, in a line across his shoulder and up along his neck until his cheek was pressed against his lover’s.

His dumb smile widened some more at the man’s confession and he brought his hands up, sliding one into the short hair at the back of Yamamoto’s head and spreading one wide over the strong expanse of his back as he whispered, “I love you. Fuck, I love you so much.”

He was sure, completely and utterly and unequivocally sure, that he would never get tired of hearing Takeshi say he loved him. His heart still skipped a beat, after all these years; his breath still caught, his cheeks still burned, his chest still felt tight like it was suddenly too small to contain his heart. He’d never told Takeshi this, of course, but…

Well, why the hell not? “Don’t ever stop telling me,” Hayato whispered, tilting his head so he could brush his lips over his Rain’s as he spoke. “Don’t ever stop telling me you love me, Takeshi.”

He smiled softly, returning the soft kiss. “I won’t. Ever… I’ll tell you every day for the rest of our lives.” That sounded so close to the confession he’d been wanting to make for a while, but hadn’t had the courage…

But it was right there, on the tip of his tongue and practically begging to come out. He knew he wanted the bomber to be his forever. It wasn’t a question. He had always been afraid that Hayato’s natural suspicions would make any hintings at ‘forever’ a reason to run.

But he had run… and neither of them had liked the consequences. And Takeshi knew he couldn’t handle it if the Storm actually died and he never took the chance. He opened his mouth to make some sort of explanation, to rationalize what he meant.

"I want the rest of our lives… Hayato, please marry me?"

"Idiot, even you would get tired of that,” Hayato murmured against Takeshi’s mouth, lazily dragging his fingers up along the swordsman’s back and into his hair, down to his cheeks to stroke his thumbs over his cheekbones.

The rest of their lives, though… That… Gokudera held no illusions about what the future held for him. He would die, he knew it, at the hands of one of their rival families. If he were lucky, he would die protecting Takeshi or Tsuna, giving his life for the only people who had truly accepted him as family, who had made his life worth living again.

No… No, if he was lucky, he’d die alone, so that Takeshi would never have to find his broken body.

But that train of thought was too macabre, especially when he had the love of his life, his literal, actual reason for living here, in front of him, around him and against him and inside him and Gokudera leaned forward to kiss him again but his lover’s words made him freeze. All of the air in the room disappeared—or, at least, he forgot how to breathe it—and his eyes widened as he leaned back, pushing himself to arm’s length as he stared the brunet down.

"What?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe what he’d heard. No one, no one was supposed to want him forever. No one. No one ever had, and really, he’d just been waiting, expecting the other shoe to drop. Takeshi was someone who was supposed to have forever with someone else. Hayato never expected to get that.

Except now… now, here was this perfect, stupid man with his perfect, stupid smile and his kind heart and his everything asking for that with Gokudera. Gokudera, who couldn’t have nice things because he broke them, without fail, and how long was it going to be before Yamamoto saw that, saw that he wasn’t worth the effort, the trouble of all of this?

"You… do you… do you mean that? Do you mean it, Takeshi?" His voice was hoarse, hopeful in a way that he should have hated himself for but he couldn’t, because

"I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t mean it, Hayato. I wouldn’t do that to you." He pulled him back in gently, hands running up and down his back. "I should have done it right, gotten a ring, taken you out or something, but… gods, Hayato, the thought of you being gone, being away from me… of me losing you…

"I can’t do that again. I won’t do that again.” He cupped his cheek, dark eyes boring into green, begging him to understand his words. “You’re everything to me. Absolutely everything. And I know our lives are screwed, and we can’t exactly promise to grow old and die in our sleep together. I’m not expecting that.

"I want… I want you. I want you to be mine in every single way possible, for as long as we have together. I already know I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, Hayato. I just… I want to make it official."

He leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “So please… tell me one way or the other, love, because you’re actually breaking my heart here. Will you marry me?”

He knew. In the back of his mind, he knew that Takeshi would only ask if he was completely certain, that he would never give Gokudera the promise of forever just to snatch it away.

It’s this knowledge that made heat burn in his face, tears prick at his eyes all over again, that made his throat tight and impossible to speak through. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t say yes, not yet, not with as full as his heart and his mind are, so he listened instead, pressing his face to the crook of the bigger man’s shoulder as Takeshi promised him everything, called him everything, and the bomber wasn’t worth that, not to someone like this man, who’s remained so good through everything.

He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it. There was only one person that he would ever give forever to, and it had always been Takeshi.

"I can’t… I—" he started to make excuses, to try to make his lover see what a bad idea this was, but what could he say that Takeshi didn’t already know? The swordsman knew him, inside and out, could read him like a well-loved book, could calm him or excite him or agitate him with a look, could put up with all of his bullshit and still love him at the end of it.

Hayato sniffled and sat up to rub at his face, leaning into the gentle kiss before looking down at the Rain’s chest as he murmured, “Yeah, I… I want forever, with you. It’s only ever been you, Takeshi—you’re… fuck, just, yes. Yes, I’ll m-marry you.”

“Ti amo, Hayato. Sei il mio tutto." It had taken him longer to learn that phrase than any other; he had practiced for hours to make sure his normal Japanese accent was gone. His face buried in the bomber’s shoulder, hiding the tears in his eyes as he clung to him. He had absolutely everything he wanted in his arms, after almost giving up hope that he could have it at all.

His body shook, more than a little overwhelmed by the thoughts racing through his head and the emotions that made his chest far too tight. He didn’t realize that he was out and out crying, didn’t realize that he was probably leaving bruises where his fingers pressed into Hayato’s skin as he tried to get himself under control.

He shouldn’t be allowed to have this… he’d been so sure he’d fucked everything up beyond repair and now his deepest-kept fantasy was coming true and he just… he couldn’t handle it. It was too much.

"T-Takeshi—" Gokudera’s voice was shocked, wrecked, as he listened to his lover speak to him, speak his mother tongue perfectly, speak words that he ached to hear. “Takeshi… Sei più ditutto per me, Takeshi. Sei la mia… la mia vita, sei la mia ragione di vita.Siete tutti ho bisogno, sei tutto quello che voglio. Voglio… voglio sempre con voi così tanto. Più di ogni altra cosa."

He held his Rain, his lover, his fiance close as Takeshi cried into his shoulder, hid his own tears in the bigger man’s hair and pressed kisses to his temples, to his forehead and into the short, dark strands. He cried because he’d been so lonely for what felt like forever, because he realized, now, that Takeshi was the only person who could fill that void, because he wanted to, he was willing to.

Hayato cried because he didn’t know how else to express the joy that threatened to choke him.

"I love you," he whispered brokenly, kissing down the bridge of Takeshi’s nose until his lips clumsily found his lover’s, caught him in a kiss that was in no way graceful, but made up for it in earnest sincerity. "I love you. I love you, Takeshi.”

He kissed him back, laughing softly and pressing their foreheads together. “I love you too… I love you so much.” He stroked his back, trying to catch his breath. “You’re so amazing… I can’t wait to get home now, so we can start making plans.” His lips moved down to Hayato’s neck, fully intent on tormenting his fiance again.

The cellphone going off loudly from the floor made him pause. That wasn’t a text tone. It was definitely Tsuna’s ringtone.

"Ugh, ignore it…" He started kissing him again as the phone went silent, but groaned when it went off again. And again. "Fuck…"

He carefully laid him back on the bed, snatching the phone up with a grumpy, “What?”

Tsuna’s voice easily filtered through the phone. “Hi to you too. You haven’t gone for food yet, have you?”

#bombassbitch #8059 #this is so long

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